The Founders: Pieces of Life
by Aedalena
Summary: Collection of ficlets set in the Nullifier universe. Piece 3: The founders try to make sense of Harry--and his escape.
1. Birthday Duels: Godric, Salazar

Author: Aedalena  
Summary: A collection of short ficlets set in the Nullifier universe, following the lives of the founders before (and possible after) Harry's arrival.  
_This chapter_: Godric's sword, Salazar's locket, late night duels, magic of dubious legality, Morass, rumours, battle wizards. It's Godric's birthday, and Salazar is being cryptic, as usual.  
_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made by the author of this fanfic.  
_**Note:** Knowledge of the Nullifier universe will be helpful, but not necessary, to read this ficlet. Conversely, these short stories provide interesting bits of background for Nullifier.

**The Founders: Pieces of Life #1**

The sword—silver and set with rubies sufficiently large to blind an opponent in the proper lighting—might not have been the most shamelessly gaudy weapon ever forged, but Godric suspected it would take no small amount of searching to find its equal, much less one surpassing it in sheer, decadent uselessness.

"Is this supposed to be a subtle Slytherin remark about Gryffindor pride?" he asked Salazar, who had been patiently watching him study the sword.

His cousin didn't quite smirk, but Godric thought it a near thing.

Helga and Rowena had presented him with their gifts early that day, over breakfast. From Helga he had received a rare chalipris stone, which possessed the power to heal even a mortal wound, though only once. Rowena, applying her characteristic genius for charms, had enchanted a ring to automatically fire off an ennervation spell if its wearer was ever stunned.

He had been pleased with the gifts, albeit slightly irritated at the implication that he was unable to take care of himself—he was twenty-five years old, and had been out of his apprenticeship for over two years now. Sometimes he felt the age difference between Helga and Rowena and him a bit more keenly than he would like. Even Salazar, barely three years his elder, had a habit of treating him like a hopelessly naive younger brother who needed watching, but he _didn't_ and somehow whenever he tried to explain this, Salazar would listen attentively, assure him that understood perfectly, and do absolutely nothing to alter his behaviour.

Thirty, Godric decided. Surely by the time he was thirty they would tire of playing the older sibling. He had more than enough of it at home—which was partly why he had thrown himself so enthusiastically into fixing up the castle and then teaching.

But for now he would settle for Salazar being less vague. When Salazar's turn to give his gift came, he had demurred, explaining that it needed to be opened in private, and he would give it to Godric after lessons were finished. This had driven Godric nearly mad with curiosity the entire day, until after supper, Salazar had pronounced it time to unveil his mysterious present.

A sword. Godric could think of no explanation for Salazar to give this to him while they were alone other than that a duel was meant to follow, which was ridiculously unlikely, not the least of which reason being that Salazar would lose horribly. That, and he had only disdain for anything so Muggle as swordfighting. But he also knew that Salazar was never this cryptic without cause. Well, _usually_.

"Gryffindor pride? Not this time, though you are welcome to take it as such. As for its true purpose..." With as close to a flourish as he ever approached, Salazar withdrew from his robes the heavy golden locket he always carried and presented it for view. "Take up the sword."

Bemused but willing to see where this was leading, Godric did so.

"Now, say _descresere_."

He obliged, and the sword shrank until it was the size of his palm. Even more bewildered now, he met the entertained gaze of his cousin. "An ornamental sword that shrinks...?"

Salazar's amusement did not abate, which was worrisome. Painful experience had taught him that an amused Salazar was something to be wary of.

"Not entirely ornamental. I think it would perform adequately as a letter opener."

Godric very deliberately did not tear at his hair in frustration. "Is that what it is?"

"No. That function is incidental."

Godric's thus far more than generous patience reached the end of its tether. "No doubt it's several times more clever than anything Rowena could fashion, but I can hardly laud your unrivalled brilliance in front of her tomorrow at breakfast unless I know precisely _what it does_!"

One of Salazar's rare smiles surfaced. "'Unrivalled brilliance,' is it? You truly must be curious."

"You're enjoying this far too much," Godric complained. "What must I do for an answer, if neither Gryffindor forthrightness nor Slytherin flattery avail me?"

"Ask Helga if she is willing to lend you some more patience, I would suggest."

"Or Rowena if she is willing to lend me her bow?"

Salazar shook his head as though with disappointment. "Violence, Godric? Your over-familiarity with those Muggleborns you teach is showing."

"Salazar..." Godric groaned, suddenly afraid that this might be a lead into another one of Salazar's tirades and any chance of ever learning the sword's purpose would be lost.

His cousin seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Perhaps I will spare you just this once."

"Unusually generous of you," he said drolly.

"I sometimes endure your company several hours a day without insulting you once. I shouldn't think my generosity was ever in question."

"Salazar!" He waved the little sword around in helpless frustration. "Tell me, before I test how much force must be applied to this dull blade to pierce through, say, the flesh of a certain overly smug Slytherin!"

Salazar raised both eyebrows. "We really must separate you from those Muggles. Very well, step back. No, back more...farther. There."

Salazar then walked to the opposite end of the room and laid the locket flat on his palm. He tapped it with his wand and whispered an incantation that Godric couldn't make out. Nothing seemed to happen, though Godric didn't dare interrupt Salazar's concentration yet. Doing so in the past had led to some truly spectacular mishaps.

"Godric?"

He started, nearly dropping the tiny sword. The voice had been as clear as though Salazar had been standing right beside him. Staring at the gift, he didn't dare look up and see Salazar laughing at him, which he _knew_ he was, the bastard.

"Hello?" he said cautiously, aiming his voice at the sword.

"Good, the first link works," Salazar replied through the sword, sounding pleased. "Though in comparison it was the easier of the two."

"You enchanted the sword to...channel voices? But communication spells _can't_ be embedded in metal—or material, for that matter! They are strictly wanded magic, work by sight..."

"I am indeed familiar with basic magical theory."

"Oh, no."

Salazar frowned. "What is it? You are not experiencing any ill effects? Tell me immediately if you feel—"

"There will be no rest for me, will there? All hours of the day, sly comments. Unwanted advice whenever I teach my students. Demands as to my whereabouts when I decide to accept a duelling offer from yet another one of those smug Council battle wizards."

"Yet another?" Salazar demanded, glaring at him from across the room. "You swore it was only those two."

"For precisely this reason!"

"Which reason would that be?"

"This," he said, gesturing at Salazar's face in the absence of words to describe his expression. "You disapprove. But despite what you and Rowena and Helga may think, I _can _see to my own safety. Whilst soundly knocking my overconfident opponents on their arses."

"At the very least, you could ask me along to watch you defeat said opponents."

"Oh." That abruptly deflated Godric's righteous indignation. "Really?"

"Fewer things would bring me greater pleasure."

Godric didn't doubt it; Salazar and the Council were not on the friendliest of terms, with one sometimes-exception. Godric did his best to restrain himself, but he couldn't. "Do you think you could ask—"

"No."

"But he would—"

"No."

"He's just afraid he'll lose. And damage his reputation irreparably."

"Possibly. And possibly a certain Gryffindor has let his long string of victories swell his head."

"So it _is_ a subtle remark about Gryffindor pride!"

"It wasn't meant to be." Salazar smiled faintly. "Very well, I will ask him for you. On one condition."

"Go on," Godric said warily, knowing better than to immediately agree.

"I want to be there when I watch Gryffindor pride fall to Slytherin skill."

"Or the reverse!" Godric retorted.

Salazar fell silent for a moment, watching him, and Godric felt the odd transparency he sometimes did under his cousin's scrutiny. "What?"

"I am—" Salazar seemed to change his mind mid-sentence. "—nothing."

"Amusing as it is to hear you of all people say that, I somehow doubt that's what you meant."

"Doubt that I meant to be amusing?"

"Usually you aren't so blatant about it," he pointed out. "Darkly funny. Scorn and derision softened by artfully hidden humour."

"Softened?" Salazar repeated, frowning.

Godric laughed. "Oh, don't look so insulted. That was mostly a compliment."

"I see. And why would you be complimenting me?" Salazar asked, a knowing scepticism in his voice. "You now know what the sword does."

"I know one of its functions, but I am not deaf. You said that the first 'link' was easier than the second. Implying that the sword does something else."

Salazar's initial look of surprise was almost instantly replaced by one of studied confusion, but not quickly enough to evade Godric's notice.

"Both links were needed for the communication spell to hold." Salazar produced a slight shrug. "I hadn't thought it worthy of mention."

"You? Miss an opportunity to gloat about some magical feat you have accomplished?" Godric shook his head. "No, you're hiding something."

Again he felt the weight of Salazar's careful study, which eased up when he crossed the room and held out his hand for the shrunken sword. Godric, still deeply curious, held the hilt out to him. Salazar took the sword and with a flick of his wand, dimmed the torchlight in the room. A short incantation restored the sword to its normal size and a longer one illuminated something within it—vine-like tendrils of magic, blue and silver and black, threaded the metal just beneath its surface, like thick veins. He did the same to his locket, with similar results.

"Your hand."

Godric held it out, and felt a sting as Salazar used a weak slicing spell.

"Ow," he said reproachfully.

Salazar threw him a disgusted look. "This is the great dueller who would defeat my father?"

Godric felt his cheeks heat. "Well, you could have warned me."

"Why do suspect that it would have made little difference?"

Salazar set the sword on a table and guided Godric's hand over it, letting a few drops fall on the blade. The blue threads of magic glowed more intensely with each drop. Salazar released his hand and cut his own, releasing the drops close to where Godric's had fallen. The silver lit up.

"Blood magic?" Godric asked.

"Yes."

Godric stared at the dim black thread. "Whose is that?"

"I thought us close enough kin that blood rituals would allow me to anchor a specialised communication spell to the metal. And it did indeed work, but as with most magical imbuings, the sword needed a third element for stability. To prevent confusing the spell, I used the blood of an unrelated wizard."

"Morass?"

"He helped with the most complicated weaving of the magic," Salazar admitted. "And, as you see, it works."

"You could have asked Rowena. You know how she gets about magical experimentation."

"I decided that, due to the origin of many of the required rituals," Salazar said delicately, "it wouldn't be prudent."

"Oh. So it's—"

"Yes." Salazar hesitated. "I know that it makes you uncomfortable. If you would rather not—"

"You made it," Godric said.

Salazar blinked at the interruption. "I believe I may have mentioned that. Several times."

"Then I'll wear it." Salazar seemed to relax slightly. "Do you still want me to laud your unrivalled brilliance somewhere within Rowena's hearing?"

Salazar cleared his throat. "That would be mean-spirited and cruel, considering her pride over the only moderately challenging enchantment she made on that ring she gave you. She should be allowed some delusion of adequacy."

"That would be a yes?"

"Perhaps a little," Salazar allowed as he removed the enchantment that revealed the magics within the sword and restored the lights.

Godric shrunk the sword again and removed his old dagger to free up the sheath. "A concealed sword. Do you think it violates the duelling code?"

"Should I ask why you wish to know?"

"Not unless you fancy a walk to the forest," Godric said cheerfully. "The battle wizards seem to have taken umbrage at the ease with which I defeat them. I have two duels tonight."

"I fear to ask how many prior duels you must have had to warrant such a response."

Godric snorted. "Enough that I would fear to answer the question."

Salazar put his wand away and they left the small room. "And what does your esteemed former mentor think of the use to which you have put the skills he taught you?"

"Aethrin? Oh, he pretends to disapprove, but he's just jealous. I am not yet burdened with a reputation like his—no one will duel him anymore. They know how badly they will lose. I am still at the point where my opponents think that they have a chance."

"And Slytherins are supposedly arrogant?" Salazar mused. "What would that make you?"

Godric laughed. "You have your vices, leave me mine."

"Shall I interpret that to mean you will stop treating me to me worried frowns when I return from visiting Morass?" The question came out light, but Salazar's attempted smile seemed strained.

"You are allowed to worry but I'm not?" He thought about his impending duels and sighed. "You must be more careful. I don't know if all the rumours about dark magic are true. You have yet to embark on murderous rampages, for example. But other people don't know you, and they talk, and the Council—"

"The Council," Salazar sneered, "is an assembly of self-righteous fools whose ignorance is rivalled only by their prodigious stupidity."

"Does that include Uncle Warin?" Godric struggled with applying the words "ignorant" or "stupid" to his intense, dangerously competent uncle. He failed.

"He is no fool, but he is just as self-righteous as the rest of them." Glancing over at his cousin, Godric saw that a brooding shadow had fallen across his face. "They condemn what they have never tried, clinging to superstitious dread of the unknown. They fear it because it is older, more powerful, and therefore more dangerous than normal magic."

"Well, they condemn murder too, and I should hope they've never tried that."

"The two have nothing to do with one another, Godric," Salazar said patiently, exactly like someone patronising a young child. "It makes their fear no less irrational."

Godric fought down his irritation at Salazar's tone. "You don't think they have the restrictions in place for a reason?"

"Restrictions? Call them what they are: condemnations. Do you know the penalty for casting one dark spell? They assign a battle wizard to watch you for a month. If there are no further 'incidents,' the battle wizard is pulled. But a second offense is punishable by a year's imprisonment. A third—well, you know about my grandfather."

Godric, who had met him once, shuddered. "Bringing him up does not exactly support your argument."

"He was mad. He was reckless with the magic, and it does not take kindly to abuse. I will not make that mistake."

Godric said nothing. Sometimes what Salazar said sounded so reasonable that he felt foolish for worrying. But over the last few years, Salazar had become more irritable. He angered more quickly, and some days his hatred of Muggleborns was so intense that Godric actually kept the students out of his way. He remembered the mishap with the witchblade that had nearly killed him and grimaced. It had taken all of his acquired cunning to stop Salazar from murdering the Muggleborn responsible for the accident.

Other times, like today, Salazar was able to joke about them.

Mercurial. That was the word, perhaps. Salazar was by nature reserved, controlled—the very opposite. Which was why his occasional outbursts, which continued to grow in frequency, troubled Godric so. They were unlike him. He never felt in danger, or that Salazar was going to truly harm anyone, but it still made him uneasy.

And others had begun to notice.

"I know," Godric said finally. "You're careful."

"Of course." Salazar glanced over at him. "You look tense. I take it the hour of your duel draws near?"

"Duels," Godric corrected. "And yes. And as a second birthday gift, you will smile and wish me luck?"

"I am going with you," Salazar stated firmly.

"No!" Godric burst out.

Salazar frowned. "Why not?"

"The duels are actually quite boring," he said earnestly. "A spell or two and I have them down. I'm sure you have more interesting plans for tonight. Doesn't the Council of Nullifiers meet tonight?"

"Tomorrow," Salazar said dismissively, ignoring the attempted change of subject. "What are you hiding?"

"I just prefer to duel alone."

"You prefer to duel alone. Challengers excepted, of course."

"Salazar—"

Salazar raised an eyebrow. "_Is_ this a duel? Or is it a woman?"

Godric was tempted to say yes, but knew that the charade would last for all of one night, and then Salazar would pursue the truth with his characteristic ruthlessness.

"The battle wizards might...react to your presence," he said, hoping Salazar would leave it at that.

"React?"

"I told you, there are rumours. People saying things about you. From what a few of the battle wizards have said, I worry that the Council might start investigating soon."

"They will find nothing." Salazar sighed. "How do you know? Have they been asking questions?"

Godric thought about the sneering insults and insinuations and had to fight down a fresh fury—he was planning to save it for the duels. "No. No questions."

"Then what—?" He looked at him and seemed to read something Godric hadn't meant to show. "I see."

"I need to do this alone," he said.

"Do you truly think you can beat them into silence? They will only resent you more."

"Salazar..." He hesitated. "You have never watched me duel. Not since I began my apprenticeship to Aethrin."

"Well, no—"

"When I am finished with them," Godric said very levelly, "they find silence a far more appealing prospect than they ever imagined it might be."

Salazar was quiet for a long time after that, until they reached the gates. "Sometimes I still think of you as the boy who sought nereids at the bottom of Polchas Lake and nearly drowned when he found grindylows instead."

"I have noticed."

"You are a Gryffindor. It is your nature to actively seek trouble."

"Which I can handle."

"I think I am beginning to see this," Salazar said with a slightly puzzled look on his face.

"About bloody time," Godric said snidely, but he felt oddly warmed by the admission. "You will let me do this alone?"

"No. We spend too much time trying to protect each other," Salazar said, staring into the dark forest. "I will hear what these wizards think of me. And you will show me that you can protect yourself."

Godric recalled some of the more hateful vitriol spouted by the wizards he had provoked into challenging him tonight. "Well, try not to kill any of them. That's my job."

"Killing them?"

"Trying not to."

"Very well. But once we have finished trying not to kill them, I have a request to make."

"Oh?"

Salazar smiled. "Duel me. I wish to see if you are as capable as you claim."

"Why, Salazar," Godric said with a delighted grin. "A chance to defeat you at something? You truly _do _give the best gifts!"

"Will you still think so when I win?"

"No nullifying. That would be cheating."

"I won't need it."

Godric walked in silence for a while. "If I win, you'll be less..._you_ about me being impulsive? Because, as you said, I am a Gryffindor. We need engage in a certain number of reckless activities each month to keep happy. And if you lose, then it means I can take better care of myself than you can." He smiled widely. "In fact, it probably means that _I_ can be patronising of you instead."

"Do recall that I am still a nullifier, and that if I exercised my full power against you, you would stand no chance."

His smugness faded. "Oh. Right."

"But yes. I will extend you a bit more trust."

"Oh, _very_ big of you."

"I know," Salazar said. His amused smirk softened into a smile. "Happy birthday, Godric."

He didn't know why that phrase meant more to him coming from Salazar than from his brothers or his father or Rowena or Helga, but like every birthday before, it did. The sword in its sheath by his side, Salazar's grudging acceptance of his age, his smile—all too rarely seen in the past few years—they were Salazar's equivalent of a rib-crushing embrace.

"Salazar Slytherin, I'm afraid you have indeed gone soft," he remarked. The outraged look on Salazar's face was entirely worth the pain of whatever retribution he would devise later. He patted his cousin's shoulder soothingly. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

And though Salazar pestered him the rest of way to the duelling grove, demanding he retract the "unfounded accusation," he remained steadfast in his refusal.

— — — — —


	2. The Harry Dilemma: Godric, Rowena, Helga

Author: Aedalena  
Summary: A collection of short ficlets set in the Nullifier universe, following the lives of the founders before (and after) Harry's arrival.  
_This chapter_: (Nullifier-era) Godric tries to explain to Rowena why he trusts Harry.  
_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made by the author of this fanfic.  
_**Note:** Knowledge of the Nullifier universe will be helpful, but not necessary, to read this collection of stories. Conversely, these short stories provide interesting bits of background for Nullifier.

**The Founders: Pieces of Life #2**

Godric was a characteristically late sleeper, particularly on the days when he didn't have to teach until the afternoon, which made his presence in the Great Hall before noon rather an anomaly. If Rowena hadn't just finished teaching Advanced Spellcrafting, she would have uttered a quick tempus charm to verify that it was indeed still morning.

With Salazar off revealing their deepest secrets to Harry-the-wholly-unconvincing-spy-Evans and Helga in her garden harvesting leopard's breath or leopard's bane or whatever flower it was she needed for her healing salves this month, Godric looked lonely at the head table.

Good. He'd be more likely to listen to reason without Salazar there to counter every other argument she made.

He was absently picking at the bowl of assorted berries that he always had for breakfast—though given how late he usually took his first meal of the day, Rowena thought "lunch" a more apt designation. She walked over to the table and slipped into the seat next to him with a murmured greeting.

Now, what strategy to use for extracting information? Her earlier attempts to discuss her suspicions with him had met with unusual resistance. She'd have to handle the conversation more carefully this time, ease into it.

Course of action decided, she opened with an innocuous question. "I'm surprised to see you here so early. Did Salazar wake you again?"

"In a manner of speaking," Godric replied, using his dagger to stab a piece of strawberry from his bowl. He studied the impaled fruit with a preoccupied air.

She grimaced as she watched him handle the dagger. An old gift from Salazar, it wasn't a dagger at all, but a sword that could change size according to its wielder's will. Godric seemed to favour the dagger form for everyday use. Rowena sometimes wondered if he knew the thing made her nervous and used it deliberately as often as he could just to needle her.

Her worry was hardly unwarranted. Magic was notoriously difficult to bind to metal, and given how many years the enchantments had managed to hold, Rowena half expected it to revert back at any moment.

She tried to console herself with the fact that Salazar would never give Godric something dangerous because it would be akin to handing belladonna to a toddler and expecting him to produce an Ethereal Elixir rather than stuff the poisonous plant in his mouth instead. But whatever consolation that knowledge afforded her was tempered with the awareness that Salazar was confident of his magical ability to the point of arrogance and the thought of the enchantment wearing off might simply never have occurred to him.

It didn't help that Salazar had been less than forthcoming with details as to how he had managed that particular enchantment, much less the far more complex and, to Rowena's knowledge, impossible, weaving of a communication spell into the weapon. Worse still, knowing Salazar, the sword did several things no one, not even its wielder, knew about. And the greater the number of enchantments imbued in the sword, the likelier it was that something would happen eventually, some cataclysmic clash of two opposing currents of magic, and—

Rowena gritted her teeth against the nearly overwhelming urge to snatch the ugly thing away from him.

"Oh?" She somehow managed an inquisitive smile.

"Helga truly does grow the best berries," Godric remarked distantly, as if he hadn't heard her question.

Rowena wondered if Helga had perhaps grown something else that might have put the distracted expression on his face. She hadn't forgotten the time Helga had mislabelled one of her magical plants and the house elves had unknowingly put leeks-that-weren't into the cream of leek soup.

The soup had put the smaller children directly to sleep and left the rest of them—excluding Godric, who passionately hated leeks—in varying degrees of sedation. Godric had taken advantage of the situation to persuade a greatly mellowed Salazar to sing a duet with him, to the mixed dismay and delight of those students and professors who weren't too far gone to listen.

It could have worse, she had pointed out later to a sober and mortified Salazar. If total embarrassment had been his aim, Godric could easily have chosen some lewd drinking song instead of the almost melancholy ballad they had sung. Nevertheless, it had taken all of them to persuade Salazar that obliviating the entire student population was not only immoral and liable to bring the Council's ire down upon them, but also impractical, mass memory charms or no. And even then, the house elves just barely caught his addition of a selective memory erasing potion to the apple cider served the following night before it could be served to the students.

Thus thwarted, Salazar's wrath had focussed entirely on Godric, who hadn't dared sleep the next two weeks for fear of being murdered in his bed...

She shook free of the memories in time to watch Godric neatly bite the strawberry off the dagger. She was unable to prevent a sharp intake of breath as her imagination provided her with an unnecessarily detailed mental picture of the damage the weapon would have inflicted should its enchantments have chosen just then to unravel.

The sound caught Godric's attention, and he looked at her as if just noticing her presence.

"Oh," he said, rubbing his eyes and offering a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Mornings and thinking...not a good combination, much less with a handful of Slytherins thrown in for added frustration. What were you saying?"

She was able to relax as he set the dagger down on the table. "Actually, that was my question."

Her relief was short-lived. Godric sighed and picked the dagger up again, spearing himself another strawberry slice. "Was that intended to be confusing? You should try harder. I think I might almost have understood."

Not having patience for the verbal sparring—complete with parrying, thrusting, and feinting—that Godric and Salazar seemed unable to prevent themselves from entering into when conversing, Rowena didn't respond. She just looked at him, and he slumped in his chair.

"I hate mornings," he said by way of apology.

She nodded impatiently, dismissing the matter. "Salazar woke you? In a manner of speaking?" A thought occurred to her and she pointed at the dagger. "Did he use...?"

"No," he said before adding, sourly, "not this time. Though you can be sure he's had a bloody grand time scheduling brewing sessions that I, for reasons obscure, must be present for, thereby providing him with the perfect excuse to wake me at all ungodly hours of the night and day with the sodding thing."

Rowena was very careful not to smile. "Such audacity."

She must not have been careful enough because Godric rolled his eyes. "I'm not three, Rowena—I can tell when I'm being patronised. I know you're one of those ghoulish morning people who find all such petty cruelties amusing."

"Regardless," she said, because the word was at once dismissive, placating, and an excellent way to steer the conversation back on subject. Then again, that would require them to have reached the subject in the first place, which they hadn't yet.

"It's Harry," Godric said, as if reading her thoughts. "I had the feeling Salazar would be getting little sleep, and perhaps he might need to..." He broke off and shrugged.

"Talk?" she finished dubiously. "As in talk about something that's bothering him? Salazar?"

"He does to me..." Godric insisted, before pausing in reflection and adding, "sometimes. Occasionally. From time to time." She shot him another look. The last of his defensiveness drained away and he sighed. "Fine. When I've been sufficiently annoying."

"But he didn't?"

Godric shrugged, twirling his dagger, fruit and all. "He might have, but Harry got to me first. Or to him. I'm not sure which. Possibly it could have been Salazar who got to Harry who got to me, which led to Salazar getting to us both."

She tried to work through that statement and gave up with an exasperated toss of her head. "Your morning students can actually understand you?"

He shrugged innocently. "Everyone else manages. Perhaps it's just you?"

She tried her stare again, modelled after Salazar's, which worked about a third of the time. Godric's blank expression wavered as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"You did that on purpose," she accused.

He gave up and let his grin surface. "Reciprocity."

For some reason, the word seemed to strike him as unusually amusing. "Godric..."

"Oh, very well." He gave the dagger a final twirl, and the strawberry slice flew off, landing halfway across the table, just barely missing a surprised Halcourt's bowl of porridge. "Between you and Salazar, it's a wonder I've retained a sense of humour at all."

"Godric."

"It would help if I knew what you were trying to get me to talk about. Yes," he added when he noticed her surprise, "I did recognise that you were trying to lead the discussion somewhere."

She gave up. "Harry."

"Ah. I might have guessed. What about him?" Godric looked down at his now empty bowl of berries and over at the distant, far flung piece of strawberry as if contemplating summoning it over. Upon noticing Halcourt's cross expression, however, he wisely abandoned the notion.

Rowena, meanwhile, struggled to process his response. 'What about him?' What wasn't there about the boy that didn't prompt suspicion? She glanced at Godric to see if he was feigning ignorance again, but he looked more puzzled than smug. Surely, he had noticed something? After Salazar, he had spent the most time with Harry.

Then again, she thought with resignation, perhaps she shouldn't be too surprised. Godric had a habit of trusting people he would do better to handle with caution. It was entirely possible that he truly hadn't noticed anything unusual about Harry's behaviour. He might not have recognised warning signs someone with just a shade more cynicism would.

"You said that Harry came to see you first," she said, switching tacks. "Tell me about it."

"Well, Salazar was taking long enough that I decided I would find him myself. Harry was passing by just as I opened my door."

"What was he doing?" Rowena asked eagerly, finding the coincidence a bit much to be believed. "How did he act?"

Godric looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "Nothing. He wasn't checking the stones for secret passages or probing the defences or laying traps. He was just walking. As to how he acted... Well, he was irritated, irritable, and irritating. Exactly what I'd expect from someone who'd had the misfortune of receiving one of Salazar's early morning greetings."

"Salazar went to him instead?"

The situation sounded even worse than she had feared. A day, and Salazar was already spending far too much time with their alleged time-traveller. And she still didn't like that Harry had just "happened" to cross paths with Godric. Anyone who knew him—that included Morass and by extension, any spies he might decide to send to infiltrate Hogwarts—knew that Godric was the logical starting point for gaining trust.

"Apparently. I suppose I should be grateful that I was spared the experience, but that really only postponed it. And worsened it by a factor of two, because Salazar arrived not two minutes after him. Ugh, Slytherins. Two of them, Rowena! Two, as though one wasn't punishment enough. Can you imagine?"

Rowena was sorely tempted to point out that indeed she could, since she dealt with both him and Salazar on a daily basis, and it couldn't get much worse than that.

"If we could keep to the subject..." she said instead, feeling weary though the day had barely begun. Godric did that to a person.

"The oh so nefarious Harry?" Godric did roll his eyes this time. "Well, we bickered almost immediately, exchanged insults, and engaged in melodrama. He threatened me at least once and was overly formal and at odds with his father. In short, he acquitted himself just as a Slytherin would in the situation. Is that what has been bothering you? You don't think he is a Slytherin?"

Rowena let her forehead drop to the table, resting it there for a moment before lifting it up again to face Godric, who looked slightly concerned for her.

"That's it? He insulted you and threatened you, and, based on that, you conclude that he is telling the truth?" She cut off Godric before he could speak again. "Fine, you said he was distant towards Salazar. Perhaps because he is an imposter who has never met Salazar before in his life?"

"Would you be any less suspicious if he knew every last detail about us?"

Answering a question with a question. One of Salazar's favourite techniques, and apparently one he'd passed along to Godric. "No, but that doesn't matter. Morass could easily have anticipated our suspicion and deliberately sent his operative in with holes in his knowledge."

"So," Godric said slowly, "we've established that your policy is to suspect everything, trust nothing, and ignore all evidence to contrary."

Change of subject and twisting of her words to use against her, wrapped up in a tidy argumentum ad hominem. What was Salazar teaching him?

"What evidence would that be?" she found herself demanding, cursing herself as soon as the angry question left her mouth for responding to the attack.

Godric had the gall to smile at her, as if he wasn't perfectly aware that she was two seconds away from throttling him. "The irrefutable kind."

"What," she repeated through clenched teeth, "evidence."

"The fact that it simply isn't possible for someone to be so maddening and not be a Slytherin."

"That's it?"

"See?" Godric said triumphantly. "He's infuriating you even now. He's not even here, you haven't seen him since last evening, and he's driving you mad."

"That's it?"

She wondered if Helga and Salazar would understand if she strangled him. Then she wondered if she really cared. Before she decided one way or the other, however, Godric spoke up again, the teasing gone from his voice.

"Rowena, we both know it doesn't matter what I say or what Harry does. Anything suspicious in the slightest will lend your theory credence, and you'll dismiss the rest as part of Morass' clever scheme. Maybe what I saw was a performance designed to make me trust him. Maybe Harry truly is that good an actor. And maybe you're wrong. I don't know. All I can tell you is what I think."

"And make light of my concerns," she said coolly.

"He flirted with a mirror, Rowena. And he was blushing." Godric laughed. "How can I think of him as a dangerous spy after seeing that? And he's—I just—" He shrugged. "I like him."

Rowena discarded her rebuttal for the mirror argument when Godric's last remark registered. It was then that she knew she had lost. If she was honest with herself, her primary motivation for discussing Harry with Godric wasn't to confirm her suspicions. It was to convince Godric that those suspicions were sound. That he should be on his guard.

Her only chance now was to convince Salazar, because he was the only person who could bring Godric round. And from what Godric had told her, it sounded like the probability of succeeding at that was rapidly decreasing with every moment he spent with the boy.

Was it some kind of spell? One that confused the senses of the people around him? Some kind of...gullibility spell? But then, Salazar should have been able to detect something like that. Natural charisma? It would make sense for Morass to choose someone with the ability to charm.

Her frown threatened to turn into a scowl.

"Rowena?" a new voice penetrated her musings. "Do I need to hide your bow?"

Rowena sighed and looked up at Helga, who, judging by the large basket she held in her arms, was fresh from the gardens. "Am I the only person to take this matter seriously?"

"This matter?"

"We were discussing Harry," Godric volunteered.

"Ah," Helga said, as though it explained everything. And perhaps it did. "Ada was quite favourably impressed by him. I am reserving judgement for now, since you are suspicious enough for the four of us."

"Salazar must have been giving her lessons in paranoia," Godric agreed, scrutinising Helga's covered basket.

Noticing the subject of his regard, Helga smiled and reached into the basket. "Yes, I picked you some berries when I was in the gardens." She pulled out a small sack and tossed it to him. "If you ever tried to attain an animagus form, I'm certain you would be a bear."

Godric caught the bundle and stood, solemnly falling on one knee in front of Helga. "Marry me."

Helga gave him a light kick in the shin, and he retreated to his seat. "I don't marry wizards whose diapers I can remember changing. Besides, you only love me for my berries."

"Can anyone blame me?" Godric popped a blackberry in his mouth, sighing blissfully as he chewed. He held out the sack to Rowena. "Berry?"

"As far as attempts at distracting me go, this one—" Rowena paused as she sighted some blue mixed in with the purple and red berries. "Are those dewberries?"

Godric tried one and made a face. "Ugh, yes. I don't know how you can stand them. They're far too tart."

Rowena opened her mouth to defend her favourite berry, but closed it when she noticed a group of Godric's students rapidly approaching them, looking outraged. She sighed, wondering what Salazar had done to them this time.

"Professor! You can't possibly expect us to attend Potions with that lunatic in charge!"

Odd. This was the first time Rowena had heard anyone complain about Kessel before. The man was absent-minded at times, but an excellent teacher.

"He's a Slytherin, isn't he? Got to be."

"He's horrible! He doesn't explain anything, and he wouldn't let us use magic at all."

"I think he's insane. He tested every one of the potions. Isn't that grounds for dismissal? Insanity?"

The slightly bewildered look on Godric's face left him and he pressed his lips together in what might have looked like a stern line to the students but Rowena recognised as a desperate attempt to keep from smiling. What was going on? Kessel must be mad if he'd personally tested the potions. It was a wonder he was still alive—

"Just how long are we expected to endure Professor Evans?"

Rowena blinked, Helga hid a smile behind her hand, and Godric coughed.

"Professor Evans?" she repeated dangerously.

"Salazar said it would be a good outlet for his energy," Godric said.

"You should be pleased," Helga said, appealing to her logic. "If he's busy teaching, then that's less time he has to do anything...else."

She stared at her traitorous friends. "Am I the only person who was not informed of this...this idiocy?"

The Gryffindor students had fallen silent and were watching the three of them warily.

Godric's gaze moved from her to his students and his shoulders slumped slightly in relief. "This is a house matter better discussed in the privacy of my office." He snatched up his sack of berries and stood. "Helga. Rowena."

He escaped, students in tow, and Rowena looked at Helga, not bothering to conceal her displeasure. "You could have told me."

"We couldn't just leave him locked up. And you would have said no."

"Have all of you taken leave of your senses? Giving him free reign of the school, access to the students..." They were all aware that some of the students were sympathetic to Morass' cause, and letting a potential spy loose in their midst was both irresponsible and extremely stupid.

"We're all watching him, Rowena. Think of it as a test."

"I don't like it."

"Rowena...it would be foolish not to be suspicious, but if he really is who he claims to be, then think about what that means. For Salazar."

"I wish I could," Rowena admitted softly. "But all I can think about is what another betrayal would do to him."

"You worry too much," Helga chided her, taking a seat next to her.

"It's my job."

"Do you mind if I ask why you don't trust Harry?"

Rowena was silent a long while, trying to formulate a neat, concise answer. Him appearing in Hogwarts seemingly out of nowhere was a point in favour of his story of being from the future being true. There was no other way he could have got into the castle. His attempted escape didn't make sense for a spy but it did for a frightened time-traveller. She could remember his fear when they came to rescue him from Morass. It could have been staged, true, but how could Morass had known they would give chase?

He didn't seem to know Salazar very well, but there was always another explanation for that...

"Are you still angry with her? Is that what this is about?"

Rowena straightened in her seat. "Don't be ridiculous."

"We don't know what happened."

She didn't reply immediately.

"Rowena?"

"She left."

"We can't—"

"She left him. We know that much."

"And you're afraid it will happen again?"

Rowena was tired of staring at the tabletop. She stood. Helga remained seated, but watched her with too-knowing eyes.

"I don't know. I have to prepare for my next lesson." Helga didn't protest, didn't follow. But Rowena felt her gaze on her until she left the Great Hall.

It was her responsibility to be suspicious. And if she crossed the border into paranoia, well—

It was better than the alternative.

-- -- -- -- --

Thought I'd put this up to let everyone know that I'm still working on Nullifier and so that those who are enjoying these short stories will have something to tide them over till the release of chapter thirteen of Nullifier. Again, the LJ folks saw this piece quite a long time before I posted it here--my LJ's always the place to go for news, background info, writing gripes, and more.


	3. Threat Assessment: G,S,R,H

Author: Aedalena  
Summary: A collection of short ficlets set in the Nullifier universe, following the lives of the founders before (and after) Harry's arrival.  
_This chapter_: (Nullifier-era) The founders try to make sense of Harry--and his escape.  
_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made by the author of this fanfic.  
_**Note:** Knowledge of the Nullifier universe will be helpful, but not necessary, to read this ficlet. Conversely, these short stories provide interesting bits of background for Nullifier.  
**On updates**: Keep an eye on Nullifier over the next few months. I've been writing up a storm on other stories this past year, but Nullifier's been clamoring for attention lately. This short story and a few longer ones in the Nullverse have been gathering dust on my hard drive (and a few on my LJ), so I thought I'd put it up to let all of you know that I'm still around. I may put up a longer Salazar-Godric drama piece up on ffnet later, either in Pieces or as its own separate story.

**The Founders: Pieces of Life #3**

"This was the place?" Rowena put a hand to the wall, following it to the recession in the wall behind the statue of the old crone as she probed for cracks that could indicate the existence of a passageway.

Godric nodded from halfway down the corridor. "I'm certain of it. You and Salazar were speaking to him, and I stopped right—around—" He frowned, and then took two steps back and a step to the left. "Here. I called after you, and he said something; I could see his mouth moving, but he didn't use a wand. Then he walked into the alcove where the statue is. I thought he was just stepping in there to hide, though it seemed ridiculous at the time."

Salazar joined Rowena's exploration of the wall, brow knit in concentration. He studied the walls directly beside the statue, and then the alcove behind it, walking back and forth along its length, lingering in front of the statue on each pass. His distracted shooing motion cleared Rowena from the immediate area.

"If there is a passage, it's seamlessly integrated into the wall, which is unusual," she said, watching Salazar work. "Most hidden passages consist of little more than an illusion to conceal the door and a trigger spell to reveal and open it--and hide it once more, after a set time."

Godric picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked over his shoulder and saw Helga walking towards them, presumably from the hospital wing, where they had taken the prisoner. Godric half-lifted his hand to his head, wincing in sympathy. The wizard—not much older than their students—had looked utterly resigned when he surrendered, almost weary, as though well-accustomed to finding himself in such a situation.

That hadn't stopped Salazar's blow, but he hadn't dodged Helga's furious swat afterwards, so perhaps he had found within himself a rare modicum of remorse. Or he might simply have been distracted—an encounter with Morass, however abbreviated, could do that to a person. Godric glanced sideways at Salazar, but his current expression revealed only mildly irritated concentration.

He nodded to Helga as she reached them, but Rowena gave no indication of noticing her friend's arrival, still absorbed in the mystery of the passage. "—yet there isn't a single crack here, not one indication that such a doorway even exists, which suggests that if there is magic worked into the stone, it is carving out and then resealing the doorway every time."

"How difficult would it be to do that?" Helga asked, catching her breath.

"Extraordinarily. And it would take even more effort to make it unobtrusive enough that a nullifier couldn't sense it from halfway across Hogwarts, much less two metres away." Rowena sounded impressed and perhaps slightly jealous. "What I would trade for a handful of minutes alone with one of the original builders! Just a small drop of knowledge from that fount..."

"Hm," Godric said, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips as he recalled a similar remark, made years ago. "Like you were willing to trade—"

"The prisoner, what is his condition, Helga?" Rowena interrupted, casting a glare his way that suggested she would gladly have trod upon his foot, had she been close enough.

He arranged his expression into one of innocent confusion. Helga stepped between them, but her huff was more good-natured than exasperated. "He had a mild concussion that needed some attention, but he's sleeping normally now. Even so, I expect he will have a splitting headache when he wakes." She levelled a disapproving stare at Salazar's back. "Really, Salazar, was that necessary?"

"Until we have determined how serious a threat he poses—Ah. I've found it." Salazar jabbed at one small portion of wall behind the statue with his wand, falling silent as he studied it for a minute. "Clever. There are two spells, one on the statue and one on the far wall of the alcove."

"Two?" Rowena's questioning gaze contained a trace of envy, not for the first time, of Salazar's direct access to the Weave. "And they still evaded your notice?"

Salazar ignored the mild jibe, wand tapping against the wall as he mused aloud, "They must merge upon activation of one of the two and together generate enough power to carve out the door; the password would act as the trigger, then." He took a step back, wand falling away. "The spells radiate very little magic separately, which is why they were so difficult to detect. Whoever designed the passage must have done so with guarding against nullifiers in mind." Salazar extended a hand to the statue, fingers splaying across the hag's face. "Beryl. I would suspect if we split the statue open, we would find more than a few crystals imbedded within."

"Of course," Rowena breathed, looking abashed that she hadn't thought of it herself. "It would serve as an amplifier for the first spell, boosting the magic so that it triggers and merges with the spell anchored in the wall, like a spr—"

"Fascinating," Godric said quickly, before she could segue into one of her lengthy lectures on the benefits of using crystals in persistent, object-linked spells. "So, we have a secret passage, triggered by some word the prisoner knows, that leads out of the castle and presumably back in. That still doesn't explain how he got here to begin with. The wards should have prevented his entrance."

"We shall simply have to ask him." Salazar brushed off his hands and stepped back into the corridor. "When will he be ready for interro—"

"Tomorrow morning," Helga said.

Salazar's mouth tightened. "If he is sleeping, then he can be woken."

"_Tomorrow_," she repeated firmly. "He needs time to recover. Recall that he was, in fact, fleeing _from_ Morass, not to him. It quite possible he's not an enemy at all."

"That will no doubt provide great comfort to the families of the children who perish in the resulting attack upon Hogwarts. It was _possible_ he wasn't an enemy."

"Perhaps..." Godric hesitated, knowing that Salazar would object and not so enthused with the idea himself. "Perhaps we could ask your father to sit in during the interrogation." At Salazar's nonplussed expression, he raised his chin defiantly. "At least we will know if the prisoner is telling the truth. And rumours of our encounter with Morass must have reached Windham by now. He's going to be worried. Better to allay his fears now."

Salazar dismissed the concern with an impatient wave of his hand. "Of far greater import is ascertaining the method and motive of the prisoner's infiltration of Hogwarts, and Veritaserum will serve just as well as true-sight."

Rowena nodded in rare agreement. "I would also like to verify that he _is_ a nullfier. How is that even possible? Could one of the twelve have perished?"

"No, he's too old." Salazar said peevishly, as though this were a deliberate choice on the prisoner's part to frustrate him. "I have never heard of anyone more than midway through his teens inheriting the power. I was thirteen, and that was considered unusually old."

"Perhaps a time-traveller, then?" Godric suggested, only to find himself on the receiving end of some rather sceptical looks from the others. He shrugged. "Most of the future headmasters have appeared in the same manner, completely bypassing the wards. And if he's too old to be a nullifier _now_, that doesn't mean he can't have been one later."

Rowena's scepticism faded into a musing frown. "He is certainly no headmaster, but it is possible that a student could have stolen a headmaster's time-mirror."

"A simple interrogation could provide the answers to all of these questions and more." Salazar turned to Helga expectantly.

"Tomorrow, Salazar. The prisoner is bound and under guard—he will keep until then. In the meantime, I would suggest we see to updating the wards to prevent his escape."

"Agreed," Rowena said. "The sooner we are finished with that, the better for my peace of mind. We also need to submit a report to the Council. Champion Cailleach will want every last insignificant detail of the confrontation, and Highwater isn't terribly patient either. Godric—"

"I'm not a Lord," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he stepped to press his hand against the wall.

"Wanded, Godric," Rowena said sharply, and he pulled his hand back with a roll of his eyes, drawing his wand and placing its tip against the wall. Unable the argue the point, she moved on. "Salazar—"

He shrugged lightly, going to the opposite wall and pressing his wand to it. "You may recall that I do not answer to the Council either. Not this Council, anyway, and not the other for some time now."

"Helga...?" Rowena said with growing desperation.

"The prisoner may wake and be in need of my care," she demurred, moving her wand into position. "I should be available to help at a moment's notice."

With a frustrated scowl, Rowena manoeuvred her own wand into place. "Why does the task always fall to me?"

"Because Cailleach likes you," Helga teased.

"Perhaps because I don't turn my reports into works of fantastical fiction," she said, casting a sour glare Godric's way. "Lord Ulwer was terrified to go into Pendral Tower for weeks, you know."

The memory was a fond one, particularly the inquiry afterwards, so Godric didn't even try to feign remorse. "Note that I was never again asked to submit a report for any of my activities—which are hardly a concern of the Council's to begin with."

"Fine. I'll do it this time. But," she said, jabbing a finger in a vaguely threatening manner at Helga, "no excuses for you next time." She turned her attention upon the wall, staring at it blankly for a moment before shaking herself. "Helga, could you—"

"Already have it," she replied, holding up a lock of coarse, black hair. "And you would not believe how tempting it was to cut the whole lot of it. That boy is in dire need of—"

"Spare us the maternal instincts," Salazar said, summoning a few strands. "Or at the very least, save them for your students and not for the enemy."

"Possible enemy."

"I still say time-traveller..."

"Focus!" Rowena snapped, summoning several strands for herself and hovering half of them over to Godric, who studied them curiously. "Full block. I don't want him to be able to leave without one of us manually lowering it."

Taking his cue, Godric wandlessly summoned his sword, in dagger form at his waist, and hovered it midair so that he could prick a finger. He directed it to the others, who followed suit one at a time. He called the dagger back to himself when Rowena was finished and sheathed it. At her signal, he closed his cut hand into a fist around the strands of hair it held and murmured the incantation, feeling the heat from the active wards, spreading out from the walls as they glowed a faint blue-white.

He glanced around, saw the unfocussed stare on Salazar's face that meant he was operating in the Weave. Helga had completed the anchoring spell already, and he could see Rowena straining with the most delicate portion of the ritual, stitching together the individual spells into one cohesive whole and feeding it to the wards in one, steady stream.

Salazar let out a breath, and awareness returned to him as he completed his incantation. Rowena jerked slightly at the influx of magic, the furrow in her brow deepening with intensified concentration as she channelled it into the wards. Her chanting rose in pitch as she neared the end of her incantation, and then a blinding pulse of white light emanated from where her wand touched the wall, travelling down the corridor as it spread to the furthest reaches of the wards.

The heat peaked and then slowly began to cool. Godric removed his wand from the wall and opened his fist, now empty of both hair and blood, the tiny cut on his finger sealed. That was one perk of rituals involving willing blood sacrifice, he thought with vague amusement. They liked to ensure that you would be capable of future sacrifice.

Rowena swayed as she lowered her wand, putting a hand against the wall for balance. Helga's lips pursed with concern, and she offered a steadying arm to her. Godric noted the faint trembling in her hands and felt a stir of worry himself; he had never seen Rowena affected so badly by updating the wards. He looked to Salazar.

"The wards resisted," Salazar said, answering his silent question with a perturbed frown, "though the modification was successful."

"Were you able to identify the reason that they...?" Rowena asked, catching her breath.

"No. However, it is possible—"

"Let's save the analysis for later," Helga interrupted, tugging at her friend's elbow. "You need to sit down and have something to eat. Come on, we can stop at the kitchens."

Rowena's mouth opened, likely with the intention of delivering an irritated retort, but it closed promptly, and she let out a heavy sigh instead, slumping her shoulders and looking small and pathetic. "You're right. I do feel rather faint...but I really should start work on the report. Hopefully my headache will not detract too terribly from my ability to focus."

Helga stared at her. "You could at least try to be subtle."

Godric smothered a laugh, and he could see Salazar fighting a smirk. Rowena coughed for effect.

"Idiot," Helga muttered. "The wards wouldn't affect your _lungs_."

"Dust," Rowena said defensively.

"Oh, fine. I'll _help_," Helga said, stressing the word. "I will not write the entire thing. And we are going somewhere comfortable, not that frigid spire of yours."

Rowena's triumphant smile was answer enough, and the two walked off, leaving him and Salazar, who cast a calculating glance in the direction of the hospital wing.

"You heard Helga," he warned.

"Helga will be occupied for at least several hours."

Godric was beginning to suspect that the source of Salazar's restlessness had more to do with his unexpected meeting with his former mentor than any deep-seated desire to satisfy his curiosity about the prisoner. And that was something he _could_ help with.

"Let's go," he said, turning in the direction opposite to the hospital wing.

"This is the wrong way," Salazar commented, following him nevertheless.

"We're not going to interrogate the prisoner. We're going to one of the practise rooms. For a duel."

"A duel."

"Yes. They're quite relaxing." He glanced behind to make sure that Salazar was still following, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was.

"Is that your answer to everything?" Salazar said with a half-hearted sneer.

"Name one thing that a duel can't solve," he retorted.

Salazar was silent for a moment as he thought. "The problem of students sleeping through lessons, or doing sub-par work."

"Nonsense. Challenge them to a duel. I have never encountered a repeat offender. Next?"

"Lycanthropy."

"Hm. That's a bit messier, but you could theoretically challenge every werewolf to a duel to the death. Brutal and impractical, but it would work."

"The Council's restriction on books containing references to dark magic."

"Challenge enough Lords to—"

"Death."

"To death?" he said with mock surprise. "Rather extreme, don't you think? All you need are their votes."

Salazar pressed, seemingly determined to win. "Death."

"Easy. Challenge Death to a—"

"Never mind," Salazar muttered. "I am beginning to sense a pattern."

"Only just beginning?" he asked with barely suppressed laughter. He was utterly unsurprised by the sharp tug to his braid that followed. "There, you see? Wasn't that an excellent stress relief? Imagine how an entire duel could help—"

"Very well," Salazar said, agreeing a bit too readily for his ease of mind. "If I win, your forfeit will be to help me replenish our stocks of Veritaserum. After tomorrow, we will need more."

"Agreed," Godric said cautiously.

"In the morning, before lessons. _Early_," Salazar said with relish.

He halted and turned the full force of his outraged glare on his cousin. "_Early_?"

"Early. And you are doubtless aware that Veritaserum takes a full month to brew."

"A _month_?"

"Hm. I think you may be correct. I already feel much more relaxed, and the duel hasn't even begun." Salazar's smirk was half smile.

He resumed walking, mind racing as he catalogued the most effective techniques that he had used against Salazar during their last duel. "I still haven't decided upon _your_ forfeit, you know."

"I am not worried."

"I could demand that you wear orange for a month. Or that you reprise your impromptu performance during supper last winter," he mused aloud. He had to swallow a laugh at the distasteful look on Salazar's face in response to the latter.

As they walked, he threw out increasingly outrageous suggestions for forfeits, managing to coax grudging laughter out of Salazar twice. By the time the heavy door to the practise room came into view, Salazar's aura of restless tension had eased and reshaped itself into a single-minded determination to defeat him.

Which, Godric tried to convince himself, could surely be considered victory enough even if he lost this duel. Of course, one month of waking early to brew Veritaserum, he thought with a wince, might change his feelings about that, of course.

And if he won, Hogwarts was due some grand entertainment at Salazar's expense. He smiled, unclasping his cloak. Just pity the poor prisoner, come tomorrow morning.


End file.
